


You Can Feel My Burning Flame

by targaryin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Smut, idk what else to say about this lil oneshot except FUCK summer, it’s hot they’re hot and then they get hot together, literally the worst season i am dyinggg, so this is jonerys as roomies, ‘and then they were roommates’
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 10:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryin/pseuds/targaryin
Summary: The AC breaks in 100 degree weather, leaving Dany and Jon to suffer in the heat.... or do they?





	You Can Feel My Burning Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this was an excuse for me to practice writing smut, and honestly it was kinda hard? Ah, well, I don’t think it’s too bad hence why I’m posting it, but there might be a mistake or two, seeing as though I wrote this in one go. It was also kinda fun to write, and I wanted to post something a little different in the tag since everyone is still in mourning over s8 (I am too). 
> 
> I was listening to Naughty Girl by Beyoncé on repeat writing this so, do what you will with that info. 
> 
> K, bye! ❤️ (I’m handing my face behind my hands)

Dany was sure she was going to die. 

She just knew it. There was no way a human should be allowed to walk three miles in 100 degree heat, but here she was. Walking and sweating. 

And she was going to _ die. _

Well, probably not, but with the intensity of the sun beaming on her back it sure felt that way. Maybe her brother was right— King’s Landing is a _ steaming _ pile of shit. Oh, how she wished she was with her dear brother, Rhaegar. He was currently living it up with Viserys on Dragonstone Island with all its windy weather and stormy beaches. She just _ had _ to go to university in the hellhole of Westeros. Sometimes, she really hated how she had a habit of breaking tradition. If she did follow tradition, she would’ve just followed up on that acceptance letter from SDU— Sea Dragon University— like all of her family did. Targaryens have a thing for Dragonstone, and Dany sometimes punched herself for not going because _ wow _ going to school on an island??? 

Who wouldn’t jump at the sound of that? Her, that’s who. 

It wasn't so bad, though— living in the capital. After this semester she only had a year left as far her schooling went and throughout her time here it’s safe to say she managed to piece together a somewhat satisfying life. She has great friends, great professors, and a really great job working at the local animal shelter. Despite the oncoming summer heat, King’s Landing wasn’t that bad, but it damn sure wasn’t going to be her forever. 

At least she had a killer AC in her small but decent looking apartment. Rounding the last corner from her long trek, she breaks out into a grin that probably makes her look insane to any by-passers on the street, but she doesn’t care. Her apartment building in all its red brick glory has come into view, and she just knows that cool breeze of her AC is waiting for her with open arms. She checks her wristwatch— feeling victorious to see it’s 1:00, knowing that her roommate, Jon, is most likely home and has the AC blasting to its full capacity.

She walks into the building and past the reception, giving a friendly smile and wave to the owner of the building, Mr. Jorah. His wrinkled face splits with how wide his grin is in return. There’s an overpowering smell of lemons that slams into her senses, offending her nose— some kind of cheap air freshener. The smell brings her back to two days ago when she was leaving out for a 2:30 lecture and she was on the phone with her best friend, Missandei. Dany was gushing about this great lemon-scented candle she had bought the other day and Mr. Jorah had been behind the reception desk, watching her with a keen eye. She tries not to think on the new air freshener, and what it means for too long. 

Missandei always did tease her about Mr. Jorah— well into his fifties, by the way— having a crush on her. It’s that thought that has her rushing up the stairs to the fourth floor before he can say anything to her, desperate to get from under his heavy gaze. 

Dany heaves a sigh of relief at the sight of the door to 4B, her humble abode, coming into view. Cool, cool salvation is just on the other side. She entertains the thought of taking a cold shower and then bundling under her duvet and sheets after, taking a nap under the steady breeze that awaits her. It sounds so good that she can almost taste it, so when she unlocks the door and opens it, it puzzles her to feel that same oppressive heat she’d been feeling all day following her into what _ should _be her cold apartment. 

She thinks perhaps Jon isn’t home after all, but when she slams the door shut behind her and walks down the short entryway into the living room, he’s splayed out on their leather couch with a sweat-soaked grey tee, looking absolutely miserable. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t even look up from where he’s lying as she walks over to stand over him. This close she can the beads of sweat gathered at his dark hairline, and the ones trailing down his forehead. 

Dany looks over to the temperature system, seeing it’s turned off, and then turns to Jon with a frown. “Hey,” she says, not getting a reply. He’s as still as calm water, making her think he’s probably napping. Deciding to just turn on the AC herself, Dany goes over to do just that, pressing the ‘ON’ button. Usually it would make a beeping sound in response, but it doesn’t. In fact, as she presses the button over and over again becoming more frantic as she does so, it does nothing at all. The blank display that should be showing the temperature mocks her. She stomps back over to Jon, now giving him a nudge in the ribs with her knee. “Hey,” she calls again, this time louder. 

Jon doesn’t budge, chest still rising and falling calmly as if nothing’s wrong. She’s starting to grow more irritable as the seconds pass, and her oncoming attitude makes her nudge Jon again— and again, and again, and again, and again, and aga—

“Stop that,” he hisses, shooting a hand out to grip her thigh. She stills her knee, and tries not to bristle under his calloused grip on her bare thigh. Gods, he probably feels how sweaty her thigh is but whatever, she thinks, it’s _ bloody _hot. 

Dany’s frown becomes deeper as he doesn’t say anything else, seeming content to lie there in the sweltering heat, but she isn’t.

“What happened to the AC?”

She gets nothing. Okay, she’ll try again.

“The AC is not working, Jon.” 

Radio silence.

“Jon,” she sing-songs, her voice lilting, sounding airy and sweet. But of course, she gets nothing again. Time to be annoying, then. “Jon. Jon. Jon. Jon. Jo—”

His hand drops from her thigh and he releases an agitated sigh. “Sevens hells, Dany, it’s fuckin’ broken,” he groans, now choosing to pop an eye open to glare at her. She smirks slightly, loving when she’s able to get under his skin even when it’s to annoy him— _ especially _when it’s to annoy him. It’s just too easy to make Jon Snow angry. Her perpetual broody roommate, but also her dear friend. “Now leave me alone.” he says with a bite, turning over on his side to face away from her. 

She lets him lay in silence for a few seconds, letting him think he’s won, that she’ll go away. Of course, she doesn’t do that, though. “Well, can’t you fix it?” she asks after a time, and she can see Jon’s spine go a little rigid. 

“No, Daenerys, I cannot fix it,” he sighs, sounding as if he’s talking to a child in that condescending way adults do to most children. 

“Well, did you try?” 

The question is harmless. It really is, in her opinion, but Jon doesn’t think so. He takes great offense to the question, sitting up in a rush and turning to shoot her with a look so cold that for a second she can’t even feel the sticky heat of their apartment. Maybe all she has to do is piss off Jon Snow all day, and he’ll keep giving her those icy glares. The heat will be long forgotten. 

“Daenerys,” he grits through clenched teeth, “it is the hottest it has ever been as long as I’ve lived down in the capital. Do you know how long I’ve lived here?” 

“Three years,” she answers the rhetorical question without a thought, because that’s how long she’s been in King's Landing, too. She knows that because every single one of these three years she has lived with Jon Snow. They have always been roommates— from day one, starting out as two scared eighteen-year olds. They might get on each other’s nerves, but she was glad that he answered that roommate ad all those years ago. 

“Aye, three years. I am from the North, Dany, you know this. The hottest it gets up there is about thirty degrees less than this, and I am _ this _ close,” he holds up his index and thumb together, just barely touching, “to losing it. So, _ please_, just go to your room or something and leave me the hell alone.” 

He heaves a final sigh and falls back onto the couch, once again turned away from her. Dany is used to Jon’s moods, but sometimes he had a way of truly making her feel like a child. She stares at the sweat-stained back of his t-shirt, chewing her bottom lip in silence before turning on her heel and going to her room as he said. 

The door slams a little louder than what she intended, and she throws her bag onto her bed a little harder than what she going was for. It is even more stifling here, in her tiny little room. She decides that she definitely won’t make it through the rest of the day without a cold shower, so she grabs a fresh towel and cloth and makes her way back in the hallway and into their shared bathroom. 

Thankfully, the water works although it stutters through the shower head, but it’s always done that. She welcomes the cold water, breathing out a low sound of pleasure at how good it feels on her sweaty skin. If she could, Dany would gladly stay in here all day, but they have bills to pay and it’s not easy for them, so after a few minutes she turns it off and reluctantly steps out, tip-toeing on the wooden floors back to her room in her towel. 

After she towels off, she throws on a loose ‘Winterfell Direwolves’ tee that she hopes Jon won’t notice she happened to steal from him during laundry day and a pair of silky panties. As she ties off the end of her silver-golden braid, she stands in front of her bed and debates whether she should also take a nap, but the thing about cold showers is that they tend to make people more alert, and she’s not even that tired anymore. Opening the door, she throws a remorseful look to her duvet and then pads through the hall, seeing Jon still laying as he had been when she left. 

A sudden memory of her going grocery last week and buying popsicles comes to mind, and she hurries to the kitchen. They are sitting there in the freezer, untouched and heavenly. Her mouth waters at the array of colors and flavors just waiting for her to plow through them. She grabs the pack and just behind them is sitting a bottle of rum, perfectly chilled. Dany looks up to the ceiling and silently thanks whichever of the Seven was responsible for such a blessing. She grabs that, too, and settles down on a stool at the tiny little kitchen island with her stash. The cool taste of cherry has never tasted so good and brain freeze has never felt so great. 

Jon walks in just as she’s finishing her second popsicle— blueberry this time— and eyes the pack of popsicles with interest. 

“Want one?” she offers the pack to him, sliding it across the marble his way. He sits across from her and grabs them up, immediately going for grape. “You’re the only person who willingly goes for grape first,” she says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Absolute madman. I wouldn’t even surprised if you were some psychopathic serial killer.” 

Jon snorts, ripping open the plastic of his popsicle effortlessly. Dany had to use the kitchen shears to open hers. “Grape is the best flavor. Plus, if I _ were _ a psychopathic serial killer who’s to say I would’ve let you live this long?” 

“I’m your accomplice, you need me.” 

Jon rolls his eyes, but a fond smile is making its way into his face. “I don’t, but if that makes you feel good, then be my guest.” 

Dany grabs the chilled bottle of rum with a wicked grin, Jon raising a brow while sucking on his popsicle. “_This_,” she says, lifting the bottle, “would make me feel good.” 

“Sure that a good idea, Targaryen?” 

That makes her outright laugh, the freezing popsicle skating across her teeth. “Jon, I’ve drunk you under the table many times.”

He lets out a choked noise, getting to his feet in indignation. “Bullshit!” 

Dany can only smile at him, enjoying the rising flush starting to bloom on his cheeks under the scruff of his dark beard. Jon’s eyes narrow at her, they fall to scan her entire face, taking in something before he comes to a conclusion. She watches with great amusement as he stomps over to the cabinet to the left of her and reaches up to grab two shot glasses. 

_ Here we go_. 

One of the many things she’s learned about Jon Snow is that he can never seem to back down from a challenge. She thinks back to last summer when they went camping out in the Riverlands and Robb had said that Jon couldn’t go cliff diving with him, Theon, and Gendry. That Jon was afraid of heights— which _ he is_— but Jon saw that as a challenge and he would not suffer a blow to his ego. Dany along with Margaery and Sansa tried to convince him that he shouldn’t but he didn’t want to hear it, and the boys— Arya included— had egged him on. 

So, Jon went on that damn cliff with Robb, Theon, and Gendry, managed to psyche himself up enough to actually make the 60 foot dive, and ending up landing horribly. His ego was definitely bruised when they had to cut the camping trip short and drive him up to the ER with a broken leg. 

Jon Snow, no matter what, never backed down from a challenge. This particular one was safe enough and she was sure no one would end up with broken bones, so she let him fill up their glasses with rum, trying not to laugh at his childish determination. 

Jon Snow was also a lightweight. 

He hands her a glass and before he takes his own, Jon makes the choice to step back and strip his shirt off. Dany averts her gaze elsewhere, not wanting to openly gawk at the defined lining of his abs, at his creamy smooth skin. He’s definitely been hitting the gym again. Noted. 

“Ready?” she asks, chancing a glance to see him staring her down. She squirms in her seat just a little. 

Jon grabs his glass, leaning a little over the island, getting closer to clink their glasses together. 

“Cheers.” 

And with that, they throw back their own respective shots. The rum burns as it slides down her throat, but in a good way. The cool liquid is already much better than their soon-to-be long forgotten popsicles. She watches as a drop trails down the side of Jon’s mouth and his very pink lips, his tongue coming out to lick it up. _ Yes, much better. _

Dany is not a blind person, she knows her roommate is incredibly handsome. Hell, everyone knows. She’s not a stranger to being with him on the street and getting nasty side eyes from girls who’d been eyeing him up a moment before. She was fine with that, and it’s not like she was any better than those girls. Dany has taken many opportunities to check him out, whether that’s a voluntary thing or not, she’s not so sure.

Still, this is _ Jon _ and there is an absolute line. She would never cross it, because deep down she treasures him and what they have too much. Dany is a sucker for routine, liking to keep things orderly and in place, and they have a routine. Jon knows her boundaries and she knows his. The two of them are a well-oiled machine. 

So, she tries her very best to not look at his chest and just keeps downing the shots with him. Laughing at his jokes and when he drinks too fast, trying to act totally nonchalant like his throat isn’t burning and his eyes aren’t shining with tears. 

This is good, she thinks, and so very simple. She’s fine with simple. 

Somehow, in between their drinking and laughing, they manage to transport from the kitchen to the floor in front of the couch. It’s much cooler down here, even if the rum is burning at her cheeks, making them red. 

Jon seems to think the same, groaning in relief as they settle on the rug and lean their backs against the couch, side by side. “It feels better on the floor, why didn’t I come here before instead of that sticky couch?” 

Dany makes an affronted noise around the rim of her glass. “Sticky? Did I want to know what you were _ truly _doing on that couch?” 

“Oh, ha ha,” he deadpans, not sounding amused at all, “like you would let me get away with that.” 

Which was true. Their very nice couch was a gift from her mother and Dany had firmly labeled it as off-limits to any debauchery. 

“Hey,” he calls, giving her a little nudge. She hums in response but doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, content to keep her eyes fixed on the red vase on the coffee table. Her toes feel slightly numb and she has that heady rush of being buzzed coming on. Dany knows if she’s buzzed, then Jon definitely is. He nudges her again and asks, “Is that my shirt?” 

Dany turns at that and is a little shocked to see him closer than what she thought. A stream of sunlight filters in through the window, shining a strip of glittery light across Jon’s face and across his right eye. She gasps at the myriad of colors floating there. Her hand comes up to trace across his brow, not minding the sweat that trickles there. 

“Were your eyes always this color? How am I just now noticing this?” she whispers, fully in awe. 

“What color— grey?” 

Dany shakes her head, fingertips coming down to trace across his high cheekbone. “Of course they’re grey, but…” she trails off, studying how it gleams in the sunlight for a while, “there’s some gold in there, I think? And indigo, yeah definitely indigo.” 

Jon snorts at that, shaking his head at her antics, which makes her pull back to take in his whole face. He looks entirely amused. 

“What?” 

“You’re actin’ like my boring eyes are somethin’ to moon over when you have the prettiest eyes I have ever seen.” His own hand comes to trace her brow, her cheekbone. She blinks owlishly at him, not quite sure if she was imagining how soft his voice sounded just then. “Wanna know what colors I see?” Dany doesn't know what to say so she just nods, ready to hang onto whatever he’s about to say. “I see violet, of course, but what you don’t know is sometimes your eyes are softer and they turn into a real pretty shade of lilac. Sometimes they go darker, kinda like now, and they look like berries. But in all of that, I see hues of blues like the clearest sky and sometimes there’s some gold in there, too,” he hums as fingertips skim across her cheek, “reminds me of the sun.” 

She stares at him in shock, and he just stares back looking every inch of reverent. The silence hangs between them, becoming thick. Dany breathes out a startled laugh, and turns her face, making his fingers fall away. The path they made across her face burns, even more than the swallow of rum she takes to ease her stuttering heart and the slick heat pooling between her thighs. 

_ What in the hell was that? And who knew drunk Jon could be so profound? _

Without saying a word, she hands the bottle over to him, not meeting his gaze. He takes it and thankfully, doesn’t say anything else. Once, when he had been dating his ex, Ygritte, their freshman year, he didn’t know what to do for Valentine’s Day and came to her for advice. She told him to just do the usual thing— buy flowers, get chocolate, write a card, and with that last suggestion he had told her that he wasn’t a _ bleedin’ poet_. She wonders where that guy is now, because _ yes_, definitely a poet. 

“Did I make that weird?”

Dany turns at once, taking in the unsure expression etched across his infuriatingly masculine yet also feminine features. A stray curl falls out of the bun gathered at the back of his head, springing out to fall against his forehead. Gods, he is pretty— and wow, maybe she drank too much.

She grabs at the hem of her— _ his_— shirt, just to give her hands something to do instead of reaching up and to run her hands through his silky curls like she so desperately wants to right now. “No, it wasn’t weird,” she assures him, and when he continues to look unsure, she admits with a shy smile, “it was actually… very sweet. Thank you, Jon.” 

He relaxes a little at that, giving her a small smile of his own. Jon nods. “Good,” he nods a few more times, more so to himself, “that’s good.” Dany watches as he tosses his head back and takes a deep swallow of rum, nearly finishing it. “Also, sorry about being a dick earlier,” he grouses with a small upwards tick of his mouth, “I just had a long morning, but it wasn’t nice of me to tell you to—”

Dany cuts off him, mocking him by imitating his northern burr. “_Leave me the hell alone_,” when his eyes drop sheepishly to the rug and a pretty blush reaches the tip of his nose, she takes pity on him, giving him a soft nudge to his arm. “No hard feelings, Snow. I was being annoying anyways.” 

“Still,” is all he says, handing over the last of rum in a form of an apology. 

Their fingers brush together for a moment longer than necessary as she takes it, pulling away with a shaky hand. She tosses back the rum and gulps it down to the dredges, a delightful shiver coming down her back. Setting the empty bottle down on the floor beside her, she peeks over to see Jon openly staring with furrowed brows, looking very concentrated for someone more than slightly drunk. 

“What—”

Before she can ask what had his attention, he reaches up and wipes away a drop of rum that had been on the side of her mouth— entirely too close to her lips. His thumb rests there and his eyes boring into hers. It seems to her as if they’re asking something, for permission, maybe. She’s not sure what she looks like to him, what her eyes are saying, but they are heavily lidded, now trailing from his eyes down to his supple, soft-looking lips, sweeping down his unblemished throat and flitting back up to his eyes that are growing darker, wider. 

Gravity shifts them closer together or maybe it’s just them, inching further and further to crowd in one another’s space. Dany’s head feels fuzzy as they find their way to each other, like magnets, unable to turn away, giving into the pull, their breath intermingling until his breath becomes hers and hers becomes his. They’re so close, just a few inches apart, she’s never been this close to him, not in this way, and she knows she could very well do as she should and back away, but she doesn’t want to, she _ can’t_. 

Even just this— being in each other’s space and toeing on that line— feels good. 

“Dany,” he rasps, a steady hand coming out to wrap around her side, fingers gently pressing through the thin fabric. “Are you sur—” 

She doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want to think about anything right now. Just him. So, she crashes her lips onto his, toes curling at the velvety feel of them. Just as soft as she imagined. Jon moves his lips against hers in tandem, a slow and tender thing at first, but as they get into a rhythm of their own, it becomes desperate, more frenzied.

He groans and grabs her up, both of his strong hands squeezing at her sides now, bringing her forward to lean into him, supporting her weight with ease. She lets out a guttural moan as he opens her mouth up, his hot tongue sliding against hers, the sweet taste of rum dancing across her taste buds. Her hands come up to his hair, making quick work of the flimsy bun that didn’t stand a chance under her needy fingers. Jon returns the favor by snatching off the tie at the end of her braid, combing through it until her moonbeam tresses fall in loose waves against her back, still damp from her shower. He hums into her mouth as her soft fingertips make their way through his curls, caressing his scalp. She moans when he moves a hand to hold the back of her head with surety, angling his head to the side for their kiss to deepen. 

He brings slightly calloused palms beneath her elbows, hooking onto them and helping her get to her feet with him, never breaking away once. On her feet, she feels increasingly more unstable, wobbling slightly as Jon turns them around so he can push her back onto the leather cushions of the couch, making her yelp in surprise. A playful smile splits his face in two as he stands over her. 

Her eyes fall from his face, to his chest rapidly rising and falling with every intake of breath, to his creamy smooth abs— she reaches a hand out to them, trailing across the hard ridges with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth— and then lower, to where he’s starting to stand full-salute underneath his grey sweatshorts, the print looking especially appetizing. His dark eyes follow her hand’s teasing path closely as she skims across the edge of his shorts and Dany can't help but smile in triumph when his gaze flickers back to her and he groans out loud, catching her looking up at him wide doe-eyes. 

She takes her time getting to where his cock is stirring impatiently and vying for her attention. Instead of going straight for it, her fingertips glide over to caress his sides, making his breath hitch. Her other hand grabs at his forearm, pulling him to stand even closer, right between her open thighs. Him being this close gives her enough to be able to reach up and tweak a pale nipple with her nails and she hums in delight when he lets out another groan, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Perhaps she took too long getting to the point because Jon grabs her by the shoulders and roughly pushes her back into the cushions. He leans over to meet her mouth again, their lips searing together in a bruising kiss that has her sighing into his mouth before pulling back and dropping down onto his knees, hands splaying against her thighs. 

Dany feels her cheeks warm under his heated gaze.

She sucks in a breath of air as he spreads her thighs open a fraction wider, attention fixed solely on the visible damp silk awaiting him. She can’t tear her eyes away as his mouth parts at the sight of her, rushing to push her shirt up her belly just a bit to really see. 

He presses a few scattered kisses across both of her inner thighs, but unlike her he doesn’t tease, wasting no time pulling her panties down her legs and throwing them somewhere behind him. She sees them land on the entertainment center and makes a mental note to grab them later before any guests come over. 

“Gods, you’re soaked,” he breathes out, the air fanning across the damp heat. He’s so close to where she needs him most, that an embarrassing whimper is all he gets in response. Dany’s ears start to burn with the flush building up her neck. She knows she’s _ soaked_, it’s all she can feel. “Gonna take care of you.” he murmurs, bringing up a finger to brush against her folds.

With a sharp pull, her legs are over his shoulders and the only warning she gets is the tight grip of his hands firmly placed on her thighs. His tongue swipes at her, and she lets out a cry, making him look up and watch her face as he does it again. Her hands fly for purchase, going to his hair and hanging on for dear life as he now switches from those tiny little swipes to full blown drags of his tongue going from bottom to top, latching onto the tiny nub there and sucking with every pass. Her thighs start to burn from his beard scraping against them as he feverishly licks at her. 

The air in her lungs stalls as his tongue circles around her clit and then dips into her, the strong, wet muscle stiffening in its task of seeking out the juices that coat it and seep into his taste buds. Dany can’t think of anything except the way he consumes her cunt wolfishly, not letting up for anything, coming off as a starved man having his first meal in ages. All she can do is take all that he’s giving, bracing herself for the storm that’s sure to break. 

He works a finger into her, then another, rubbing her from the inside out as she becomes louder and louder. The wet squelching of her wrapped around his digits sounds faint and far away as blood starts rushing towards her ears. She can hear nothing but her rapid heartbeat, her hurried pulse— hell, she doesn’t even hear herself and the steady sounds of pleasure falling from her lips, expletives laced in here and there. Jon slides his free hand under her shirt, rough fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples. 

Her thighs start to shake, her whole body does as it curls inwards, towards him. Hips jumping, eyes rolling back, fingers tightening, toes curling. Just when she thinks she’s feeling too many sensations at once, his nose bumps harshly into her clit, and she finally breaks. Her whole body is alight with flame and the sweltering heat of the city has nothing on _ this _kind of heat. 

Jon moans through the mouthful he has of her, smoky eyes studying the lines of her body, his own body burning for her. He’s her anchor, steady and strong as she rocks and weaves through the seas of her pleasure. Dany shudders as he laps up the aftermath of her orgasm, slowly but surely coming back down to planet Earth. 

“You with me?” he rasps, grabbing her hand to entwine their fingers, squeezing it. 

She breathes out a shaky sigh as she catches the tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth, looking entirely too pleased with himself while licking at her thighs. “Mmhmm,” is all she can give him, still trying to gathering her wits, the liquor definitely not helping. 

She twitches as he presses one last kiss to her clit before pulling back to study her, rubbing her thighs to soothe her. “Well, we broke the couch rule,” he laughs, his words slurring a bit. “It has definitely seen some debauchery.” 

Dany hums, now feeling light and airy, and definitely not caring about her stupid couch rule. “What’s a little more?” 

“I agree, but…” his words hang in the air, looking very pretty with the rosy blush on his cheeks. Thank the gods for rum, Dany thinks. “When I fuck you for the first time, I want it to be on a bed— preferably mine.” 

She shivers just slightly under the intensity of his stormy leering, feeling like the wolf’s prey. _ For the first time_, to her that sounds like a promise for more. And something that had been stirring anxiously in her chest since they first kissed settles. If he wants her more than once like she does him, then so be it. She’d more than be willing to give herself and to take from him. Over and over again until they’ve had their fill. 

Dany smiles devilishly, eyelids dipped low in satisfaction, preening under his close attention. “Take me to your room, Jon Snow.” 

He does just that, scooping her up with an ease that makes the tight cords of his biceps ripple underneath her hands. She laughs as he throws her over his shoulder with a stumble, making her whole world go upside down. All she can see is the pert outline of his ass and she giggles when he stumbles on their way to his bedroom as she grabs at it in a mischievous fashion. That earns her a swat to her ass, the sharp sting on her flesh making her teeth clench and body squirm. 

Dropping her onto the soft cotton of his navy blue duvet— that she happened to pick out for him, reminding him that black wasn’t the only color that existed— he eyes her up, dragging his heated gaze from the top of her silver head down to her ruby red toes. There goes that look of absolute reverence from earlier, not being able to take his eyes his away from her, staring at her with such… worship? 

Dany has never been under this kind of attention from any of her past lovers, she wonders when Jon started looking at her this way. Is it only just now, as they’re on the brink of no return and under the heavy haze of alcohol and arousal, or has he always looked at her like she hung the stars and moon with her own hands? 

It matters little, doesn’t matter at all— not right now. She’ll examine that later and come to her own conclusions. She just wants him, wants him more than anything she’s ever wanted in a long time. In a rush to get to him, she sits up and grabs his hips, coaxing him to follow her, to give into her. He follows without hesitation and leans over her, their eyes never leaving each other, violet on grey— all their hidden shades of blue, gold, and indigo mixing together. 

The next kiss is a tender one, just like their first, and it makes her heart sing. She places a hand on his chest, right over his heart, the steady thumping making a song of its own. She smiles into the kiss as his hands come to cradle the sides of her face gently. He gets a knee on the bed as their mouths open, tongues dancing against each other, getting further into her space, making her lean back until she’s flat against the bed again. 

Once she’s flat on her back and he’s hovering over her, her hands wrap around his sides, nails digging in as she pulls in him deeper, getting greedy for more. The delicious drag of his body against hers has her moaning into his mouth, hands becoming increasingly reckless as the seconds bleed into each other, going right for his ass again. Jon groans into her mouth, breaking off to pepper kisses down her chin, scattering them down the length of her throat. She hikes up her legs to wrap them around his middle, breathing out harshly at the feel of him brushing against her bare cunt. She lets out a throaty moan when he sucks at her pulse while simultaneously grinding down into her. 

Jon trails a hand down, snaking it in between their bodies, but Dany stops him with a hand to his arm. He looks at her, the dark clouds of lust breaking apart in his eyes, as he peers down on her with worry. 

“You okay?”

She smiles at how he genuinely looked concerned. “I’m fine,” she tells him, quickly going to smooth away the wrinkle between his knitted brows, “but enough of the teasing, hm? I want you.” She grabs the hand between them, guiding it to her mouth to suck and nibble at the pads of two of his fingers. Jon watches her mouth with keen interest, jaw tightening as he flickers his eyes back up to hers. “Please?” she whispers.

“Sevens hells,” he mutters under his breath. Dany goes along with him as he scoots her up the bed, head falling onto the cushy pillows at the top, her hair fanning around her in a halo that shimmers under the sunlight that filters in. He gives her a quick peck before he pulls away to lean over, Dany watching in confusion as he reaches for his bedside table. The light streaming in from the curtains shows her what he’s reaching for and she stops him with a hand to his wrist, making him look confused as well. “What?” 

She glances over to the condoms sitting there as she pulls him back to her. “We don’t need those.” 

“Why wouldn’t we, Dany?”

“Because,” she begins with a huff, just wanting to get on with it already, “I haven’t been with anyone in months, neither have you— unless you have?” she asks with a ticked brow, but to her delight Jon shakes his head with fervor, so she continues. “And you know I’m on birth control because you went with me when I had to get the implant.” He had held her hand through the painful process that left her arm numb for two days. “I’m also clean.” she adds. 

“Me too.” 

So, she really sees no problem then. Jon still looks a bit unsure but underneath that she can see something like excitement building on the fringes of his expression. “Jon, I want you,” she tells him again, rubbing a reassuring hand up his arm, “and I want to _ feel _you. All of you.” 

Jon openly blinks at her three times, the wheels of his mind stopping and stuttering, and Dany has to tuck her lips into her mouth and turn her face to the side to fight off a smile. He looks utterly dumbstruck. 

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, hands coming to caress over her ribs, gaze far away as things come into place for him. She nods and he gulps in response. “Yeah, okay…” when a hand brushes over the hardened peak of her nipple underneath the fabric of her shirt and she sighs in pleasure, his wits quickly come back to him, dark eyes turning on her. “You want me?” 

“Mmhmm,” she bites her lip, the heat between them starting to crackle, surely to burst into a roaring flame any second now. 

Jon trails his hand down her abdomen, over the fabric of the shirt, her back coming up into an involuntary arch at the feather-light touches. He settles at the hem of it, fingertips skirting against her thighs. “This looks better on you, but it has to go.” He lets out a single hum, studying her for another moment before grabbing her arms to make her sit up so he can strip the shirt off her back. It happens so fast that her head spins, and before she knows it she’s back to lying flat on the bed. Her body is on full display now, not a stitch of clothing on her, naked as the day she came into this world. “So beautiful,” he whispers, taking in all of her rosy pale glory. 

She thinks he might go in for some more teasing and braces herself for it, willing herself to be patient, but he surprises her by going for his shorts— not hesitating to rid himself of them. Dany faintly recalls Robb telling her once that Jon is not the shy type when it comes to his body, that he always manages to lose his clothes and doesn’t feel one lick of shame. She thought Robb was lying, Jon had been nothing like that as long as she knew him. 

The only times he would have skin on display around the apartment was when she would see him ducking into his room after a shower with nothing but a towel— him stripping out of his shirt in the kitchen was a rare treat. But as she sweeps her eyes from the top of his black curls that fall around his unbothered face, all the way down to his pretty cock that bobs in between his strong thighs, she thinks— yeah, totally unashamed. 

And truly, he had no reason to feel shame. His divine body is something that she’s sure the Warrior carved with his own hands. 

Dany reaches out for him and he comes easily, settling his weight over her as she makes room for him in between her thighs, the insides of both slick with want. She finds the added pressure of his body pressed against hers is just right, more than perfect. Jon grabs her chin and dives in, hot mouth meeting hers, his tongue having no trouble finding hers. Their bodies start a rhythm of grinding against each other, his heavy cock sliding through her dripping folds, testing out the waters. 

It’s too much, she’s had enough of the teasing.

“Jon,” she husks, breaking the kiss to stare at him with hard eyes, determined to get what she wants. “Inside me, now.” 

He wastes no time in following her orders, leaning on his forearm to get the right angle, throbbing cock making its way inside her, inch by filthy inch. The sound that comes out of her is a strangled cry, throat closing in, leaving her breathless. Jon doesn’t rush to fill her up, but when he finally does bottom out, he leans over her now on both forearms, biting out a curse as his eyes flit over her face to take in her blissed out expression. 

She’s never felt so deliciously full. 

Dany is given another moment to adjust to his girth, her legs snaking around his hips being his green light. He cocks his hips back, nearly pulling out to the tip— the slow slide of it slick and sinful— before he drives in back. Her hands fly to his shoulders immediately, clawing into them as she cries out. Jon buries his face into the side of her neck, sucking and biting at the smooth, unblemished skin there— sure to leave a mark or two. 

He does the same again, moving his hips back until he’s nearly out of her and then thrusting back in, repeating this action with such force that it drives her up and up the bed until her head knocks against the metal frame of the headboard. She doesn’t even notice the pain, barely registering it, because the pleasure is overwhelming and she’s entirely too focused on raising her own hips to meet him thrust for thrust. She manages to shoot a hand out to grasp onto the surprisingly cool metal, staying her body from pushing up any further. 

He feasts on the sensitive skin of her neck, grunting into her ear with the effort of being responsible for her pleasure, working to move his hips in all the best ways that make her keen, cry out, beg. His soft lips dance down her throat, peppering kisses to her collarbone, and then finally getting to what he was seeking out, pulling, sucking, _ laving _at her nipples. 

All of it is driving her mad, she can’t get enough, it’s like he’s everywhere. Invading her senses— the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of his sweaty skin underneath her palms, the mind-numbing smell of his shampoo and light musk, the sounds of his pleasure coming out in grunts and groans, the sight of his pretty lips at her breast burning into her brain. Jon Snow is more intoxicating than any alcohol. 

Jon pulls away from her tender breasts that are left red and shiny with his saliva, moving up to bring them face to face, looking at her with nothing but pure admiration. Dany’s breath hitches when brushes away a stray silver tendril that had been falling into her face, his gaze is soft, juxtaposing with his wicked thrusts that make her see starbursts. He doesn’t break their rhythm as he calls her beautiful, and Dany’s eyes water, feeling alarmingly overwhelmed. He drops a kiss on her brow, pulling back to give a small smile like he knows about the startling twist that gives behind her ribs, not used to such affection. 

“So close,” she utters in warning, that fire building and building. 

He hitches a leg over his arm and the movement angles him deeper, helping him delve further into her snug channel. Jon never takes his eyes off hers, determined to see her break before he does. He quickens his thrusts, pace teetering on the edge of punishing, but it’s just right. Dany can hear herself around him, the wet pool of her arousal becoming audible. Jon groans, free hand coming down to press onto her tight little nub, alternating between circling over it and tapping. 

“Fuck, you feel so good around me,” he growls between clenched teeth, eyes blown out to black.

The flames are lapping at her now, her face is flushed with sweat, her whole body covered in a light sheen of it. She thrashes and wails under him as buries himself into her as he far as he can go, halting his thrusts and circling his hips. A ray of sunlight falls over his right eye, and once again she can see that same myriad of colors hidden in the dark grey depths. 

She’s gone after that, the fire burning her alive in the best way. Her silky walls pulse around him, her heighted moans become strangled. She clasps onto him, arms hugging his shoulders, her free leg tightening around his hip, her semi-sharp nails digging into his skin. 

Dany is so far gone that Jon’s reverent praises nearly escape her, but she’s able to register the devout words that tell her she’s so good, so beautiful— that she’s _ his_. Hearing him claim her brings on another onslaught of arresting pleasure, she completely revels in it as her body trembles and shakes beneath him as she comes hard around his cock.

And just when she thought she’s never felt so full in her entire life, he follows her into the flames, filling her up even more with his warm seed until she’s to the brim. The growl he lets out during his release rumbles through him, reverberating through the both of them. She smooths a hand down the tightened muscles of his back as he shudders above her, welcoming the weight of him slumping into her. 

Neither of them move for several minutes, just trying to come back down on their own accord. Dany looks up to the ceiling and wonders how she got here, and more importantly, _ why _didn’t she get here sooner? 

With a sigh that tickles against her neck, Jon heaves himself off of her, leaning back to gently pull out her. She shivers when he does, evidence of their passion sliding down to her ass. Jon falls to her side and suddenly it’s very quiet, neither of them saying anything.

Dany is just about to drown herself in self-doubt and anxiety when he snakes an arm out, hooking onto her hip and pulling her into his chest, her cheek pressing against his chest, right over the quickened thumps of his heartbeat. Those worries fall away. 

She grins, and even though she’s not looking at his face, something just tells her that he’s doing the same. Her fingertips trail against the planes of his chest as they settle down. 

He’s the first to break the comfortable silence, but she welcomes it, loving the raspiness of his voice. “Maybe we should always have some rum stashed away.” 

Dany snorts, turning to bury her face into his chest. “I don’t need rum to want this,” she says, feeling more sober than she had a moment ago. The admission sounds more tender than what she was going for and she’s glad her words were muffled by his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t hear that. 

But he does, twirling a silver lock between his fingers, inspecting how it shines under the afternoon sun. “Aye, neither do I.”

They become quiet after that, staying silent for another minute or so, before he pipes up with, “I meant it, you know?” 

Dany cranes her neck to look at his face, heart stuttering at the sight of a delicate smile and warm eyes shining down on her. “Meant what?”

“That you’re beautiful and that I want you to be mine.” 

He says it so calmly that she has to really turn her head to fully take in his face, not sure if this was maybe the liquor talking, but he doesn’t falter under her inspection, just smiling at her in that easy way that makes her gut clench with want. Though, this time it isn’t any sexual desire, it’s the desire to be just that— his. 

She doesn’t know when these feelings became so strong, so intense, but she’d be a fool to say no and turn him away. Maybe she can have that simple and familiar routine of everyday life with not only her roommate, but her _ boyfriend_. 

She leans up on her elbow, coming face to face with him, the decision easy enough. “And I want you to be mine,” the words the happiest she’s ever said. 

The answering grin she gets to that sets her heart aflame, hotter than any summer heat. Jon pulls in her for a passionate kiss, grinning against her lips, she’s happy to deepen it but before she can, he breaks away, laughing at her when she blindly chases after his lips. 

“Not so fast, Targaryen,” he husks, eyes lighting up with humor. “We gotta do somethin’ about that AC.” Dany collapses onto the pillows with a frustrated groan when he slides out of the bed and out of her grasp. 

_ Damn _the heat, she thinks. Damn it all to the seven hells. 

**Author's Note:**

> Also, if anyone who reads this knows any good ways to make moodboards, please hmu in the comments. I am desperate to know. Thanks!


End file.
